Page 42 of Winterset
He laughed lightly. “Well, they are notFrench,if you know what I mean, but they are fine enough to look at for an evening. But don’t look too long at any young lady, or you might find yourself engaged.” He winked.
If only that were my problem.
The serving maid returned with our drinks and set them on the table.
Lord Markham grabbed his glass and raised it. “To French beauties,” he said, and we drank.
“This drink is certainly strong.” I grimaced.
“The strongest,” he agreed. “Burns all the way down, doesn’t it?”
“That it does.” I swirled the amber liquid and took another sip. “It will get the job done, though, and that’s all I care about tonight.”
“Here, here.” He knocked on the table, and we both took another drink. “So what finally lured you back to England?” he asked.
“Duty.”
He nodded his understanding. As a baron—ayoungbaron—I was sure he did.
“And now that you’re here, what are your plans?” he asked.
“I have many. But first, I must renovate Winterset. Then I hope to find a bride.”
“A marriage-minded man?” He met my gaze over the rim of his glass. “Best not say that too loud, else the matchmaking mothers will have you married by sun up.”
“It would not matter if they heard. My suit is not such a prize. My elder brother Damon holds the title, not I.”
Lord Markham set down his glass. “That makes you second in line, does it not?”
“It does. But being second does not count for much.”
“Maybe not in London, where there is a peer on every corner, but people up here are not so prejudiced.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”
He took a sip of his port and set it down. “I daresay we are the only two unmarried gentlemen under the age of thirty-five in this county.Truly, you have a fine house and a titled family. Here, you are as good as an earl. As long as you attend Sunday services every week, you will have your choice of women.”
The thought that my suit might be enticing to the young ladies here was hard to believe. I’d spent my life being Damon’s shadow, watching every lady of our acquaintance prefer him over me simply because he was the heir—except for Hannah, at first, but I’d been too daft to see what I had in front of me.
“I will have to take your word.” I took another sip.
He shrugged. “You are not so far from a title as you think. People die all the time.”
I choked on my brandy.
“Don’t look so scandalized,” Lord Markham smirked. “Death is a fact of life that can only benefit us second sons.”
Try as I might, I could not find a dignified response to the first part of his statement, so I focused instead on the latter. “You are also a second son?” I asked.
“I am. My father passed away last year from consumption, and my elder brother died six months later in an unfortunate hunting accident.” Lord Markham stared down at his drink.
“My condolences,” I said. Having lost my own father, and to the same disease, I knew all too well the pain that lingered. Perhaps Lord Markham’s speaking so casually on the subject was his attempt to minimize his pain. I could forgive him for that.
“It was tragic, to be sure, but I count myself blessed. After all, I am a baron now.” He paused, taking in my expression. “That face again. You cannot tell me that you haven’t considered the possibility of inheriting.”
It was impossiblenotto. Negligent, even. Should any harm befall Damon, I was next in line. It was my duty to be prepared. To my shame, there’d been a time when I thought I might make a better earl than my brother.
But I’d never wished for it.
